


And I'll Be Two Steps On The Water

by theanonymousj



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Homophobia, Multi, Polyamory, actually i really don't know, fuck idk, huh, i swear this is a happy fic, never had such a problem tagging before
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 16:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12729948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theanonymousj/pseuds/theanonymousj
Summary: Mordred's magic is discovered by the knights of Camelot. Contains spoilers for season 5.





	And I'll Be Two Steps On The Water

Mordred assumed that hiding in Camelot would be no different than hiding among bandits, but apparently there were a few key differences in those experiences that he’d completely missed. The first was that bandits were ignorant and uncaring; they consistently missed the times he’d used magic. The second was that bandits didn’t abide by laws of any kingdom, so breaking the law wasn’t really a problem. The third was that bandits often harboured no strong feelings but for want of gold. Camelot and its knights were opposites in every respect; they were alert and perceptive, they were enforcers of the law, and they were filled with passion and bound by duty. Yes, it was a lot harder to hide in Camelot.

And what was he hiding of all things? Well, sorcery for one. His druid heritage, his magic, all were reasons for him to hang or burn at the stake. He’d hidden it for years and years now, and knowing that Merlin was there in Camelot suffering in much the same way -  well the solidarity of the notion was a comfort of sorts. But it wasn’t just his forbidden magic, but his forbidden feelings. If only some part of him had been born normal then maybe being a knight of Camelot would be easier, but no. And it was one thing to find men attractive, but another thing to see his fellow warriors that way. And then maybe if it was only one he’d fallen for then he’d be able to hide just from them, go on missions and patrols without them, but again, no. No, Mordred had fallen for Percival, for Gwaine and Elyan, for Leon. He couldn’t simply avoid all four of them. He definitely couldn’t right now.

Their horses moved slowly onwards, following what was left of the long-abandoned trade route to Amata. Following Odin’s death, his fairly reasonable daughter Freya had assumed the throne and Arthur had carefully negotiated reopening the old trade routes between their kingdoms amongst other agreements. Now the knights simply had to retrace these routes with their horses back into existence – and, of course, red them of any bandits that might be about. Leon, naturally, was leading the group, and he’d insisted that Mordred stay right behind him through the whole trek. There were positives to this, such as Mordred not having to stare longingly at the other three, but there were also negatives like not being able to look at the men he most enjoyed staring at.

After a mostly unfulfilling day riding, the five found a clearing in the woods west of the road to rest in. Horses tied up and unsaddled, the men washed as well as could be in the small brook and fed, they retired having passed few words between themselves. Elyan volunteered to take the first watch, and satisfied his friend would do a good job, Mordred fell asleep. His dreams were filled sorrow and loneliness, the times when he’d felt isolated among friends and family, simultaneously outcast and surrounded. Eventually Leon woke him, just in time to watch the sun rise in the east between the tree trunks, making his watch the most eventful of the long night.  With the others sound asleep to his right, he clicked his fingers and made a blue flame appear, something to play with in the refreshing dawn light.

That was until he keenly heard a twig snap to his left, then another dead ahead of him. He kicked out at Gwaine, who in turn woke the other three, but all too late. The enemy, a group of bandits, were upon them, blades drawn and gleaming in the early sunlight. Their apparent leader gave a cruel smile, even as Percival retrieved his own weapon from the forest floor. Mordred watched on in horror as the men drew closer and closer, sharp edges quickly approaching his friends’ soft skin.

_This is all my fault. This is all my fault. My friends will die if I don’t act now._

He did something he’d only done as a child, but that same fear, same sheer desperation was flooding back to him so fast now that he knew he had the power to do it. He screamed, and just like the knights of Camelot had done back then, the bandits were now flung into the air and knocked unconscious on the fall. He almost smiled, almost congratulated himself on saving his friends.

Almost.

It didn’t take long for the swords of his friends to turn on him. They hadn’t needed to see his irises change to gold to know he’d wielded magic in that moment. They all held expressions of shock, of confusion and fright. Leon took the initiative as always, stepping forwards with great caution and pressing the tip of his sword to Mordred’s chainmail-clad chest. He pursed his lips before finding the right words with which to address such a terrible situation.

“Mordred… you did that didn’t you? Y-You have magic?”

He swallowed, mind scrambling for an excuse before he gave in and just nodded. He felt tears spark in his eyes.

“But… why?”

Choked up he struggled to speak. He found his hands shaking at his sides as he desperately tried to keep hold of some composure.

“I w-was born with it. There’s no…. There’s no real answer to that question.”

Leo frowned, a little angry, his force on the sword making Mordred uncomfortable now.

“Why… Why come to Camelot at all, Mordred? Why hide this evil amongst our ranks?”

“I wasn’t…” tears started to fall, “I-I just wanted to serve Arthur…. I-I… would never bring harm to the king, I-I swear it.”

“I don’t believe you, Mordred,” Leon’s willpower was crumbling to pieces as he spoke, “I can’t. For this you’ll… you’ll…”

_Hang? Burn?_

“If my sentence i-is death then get on with it… Kill me.”

Mordred took a step backwards and dropped to his knees, hanging his head to expose the back of his neck.  At least in this position the dark curls of his fringe would hide his tears as the sword came down. At least with his eyes fixed on the ground he wouldn’t have to see the fear on his friends’ faces.

“Do it,” he whispered, too quiet to be heard.

He waited for what felt like an age, but the sword never fell; not until it plunged into the dirt in front of him. He looked up at Leon through the tears hanging in his lashes, the wobbling image of a weary friend met him. He looked distraught; he looked distant.

“I don’t understand. Magic is… it’s evil.”

“Am I evil, Leon? Am I?”

Leon didn’t have to consider the answer, not for a second, but he reluctantly held onto it nonetheless.

“No.”

It was Gwaine that spoke up now.

“You’re not evil Mordred.”

He sheathed his sword, pushed passed Leon and helped Mordred to his feet. For a moment the contact only extended as far as the grip on each other’s forearms, then Gwaine pulled Mordred into and embrace, and Mordred began to sob all over again. The others watched on, Percival and Elyan dropping their guard as their friends had, still uncomfortably wary of the ‘danger,’ the ‘threat’ that Mordred posed – even as he stood there in Gwaine’s arms, crying his young heart out.

Not a word more is spoken about magic for the rest of the trek, barely a word is spoken at all. Leon continued to lead the party forward into Amata, then back in Camelot and toward the citadel. Mordred did not stay by his side this time, was offered no space under his protective wing. He hung back from the group, with only Gwaine spinning in his saddle to check on him every so often, offering him sad smiles of understanding. The whole walk home was stretched thin by the fear that his friends would betray him to Arthur. And surely Arthur would only believe them. He’d die having committed treason, having brought the evil of magic to the heart of Camelot – when he’d only ever used it for good, to serve his king. If he had any choice in the matter he’d give up his powers in a heartbeat.

As they jumped down off their horses in the citadel, Mordred’s heart rate doubled, the muscle rattling senselessly behind his ribs. The closer the throne room loomed the more and more painful the ache in his chest became. As he crossed the threshold his fingers brushed against Gwaine’s and the two made eye contact. Now it was Mordred’s turn to harbour an expression of doubt and fear, and Gwaine just wished he could communicate some comfort to him.

_You’re safe. Your secret is safe._

Mordred did not hear these silent promises. He sat through the debriefing shaking with fear – at any moment one of the knights might betray him and he might be sentenced to his death by the man he’d gladly give his life for. But no one did betray him – not even when Leon was asked to stay behind and he fled to his chambers did the armed guards come for him. He curled up on the sheets, chainmail still hanging heavily off his body and muddied cloak dirtying the top blanket, begging the powers that be to give him a second chance.

When a knock at his door shook him from his shamelessly pleading, he answered without having changed since the ride. He found Percival in his doorway, out of his chainmail but still likely wearing the same shirt and breeches he’d last seen him in. The conversation between them was silent, but Mordred backed up enough to let Percival in. He didn’t miss the way Percival’s fingers toyed with the grip of the sword thrust through his belt.

“When the men of Essetir came for my family and home, there were sorcerers among them.”

He spoke flatly, apathetically. He’d long since divided himself from this trauma.

“The things they did to the people I loved, the town I lived – I cannot speak of it. The memory is old and yet the wound is still fresh and stings. Without sorcery my town wouldn’t have been taken, my family wouldn’t be dead. Without sorcery I’d still have them.”

Mordred nodded, “I know what it’s like to lose so much. Uther’s men hunted my people relentlessly. I lost so many I called family.”

“You’re a druid?”

“I… was. Perhaps I still am.”

“But you mean the King no harm?”

“Druids are, for the most part, a peaceful people. They’d mean harm to no man. And I certainly mean no harm to the King.”

Percival weighed up those word carefully, wondering if they were enough.

“And I mean you no harm, Percival. I swear.”

“I don’t understand how that can be. You wield magic, and that is to wield evil itself.”

“I was born with my powers, if I could go back and change that I would.”

“Why not change it now?”

“Because it’s not that simple!”

Mordred regretted raising his voice the moment the words left his mouth. Percival’s fist was now tight around his sword

“There’s a lot I don’t know about sorcery, Mordred. Forgive me for being cautious.”

He was a lot more than cautious. He was terrified for one thing, and a threat to Mordred’s safety for another. But Mordred forgave him regardless – Percival had a big heart and he was trying, trying so hard to understand something that had only brought him suffering in the past.

“Do you want me to show you something harmless?”

“With sorcery? It’s so dangerous for you-“

Mordred clicked his fingers, and in his palm appeared a blue flame. Percival gawked at it before it transformed into a beast with four legs, an arching neck and flowing tale. The recognisable silhouette of a horse appeared, tiny and magical and… perfectly safe. Percival drew closer, one hand reaching out over the miniature steed in curiosity. He found the flame to be hot, as if it were real fire, although the heat did not seem to scald Mordred’s palm. The flame flickered out of existence and Percival let his hand fall in Mordred’s.

“I’m trying, Mordred. I want to understand.”

The simple touch had Mordred back at the brink of tears, and when he looked up into Percival’s eyes he saw that he wasn’t much better off. Their foreheads touched, Percival’s free hand snaking around the back of Mordred’s neck to cradle him. It was definitely Percival that initiated the kiss, but Mordred leant into it all too easily, too eagerly. After all his ordeals, his every trial, wasn’t he allowed to crave affection like this? Wasn’t he allowed love?

Percival broke it off first too, however. He pulled away, letting go of Mordred as he did. A sour taste bittered his tongue – not because of Mordred, but because of what Percival had done to him. Mordred crumbled in on himself as he watched Percival go all too quickly, all too quietly. The room filled with a tense silence, like a held breath in an empty chamber. He manged to find the energy to shed his cloak and armour before stumbling into bed and covering himself with the sheets. He cried himself to sleep, confused and alone.

 Days passed, days where Mordred saw nothing of Percival. He looked for him in training, while patrolling the market, in the council meeting. With the other knights making it their goal to avoid speaking with him still he found himself asking Merlin for Percival’s whereabouts. Merlin’s ever suspicious eyes squinted back at him for several seconds before he answered.

“No. I haven’t seen Percival for a few days.”

“Could you find out for me? Please.”

“Why don’t you just ask one of the knights? They’re sure to know more than me.”

No, that wasn’t an option. Even Gwaine was limiting their talk to simple greetings, he couldn’t push it with them right now.

“I was hoping you could just ask the King.”

“Just ask the King what?”

Mordred froze at Arthur’s voice, suddenly aware of the presence behind him. He turned on the spot to face his King and chewed on his bottom lip.

“I was wondering where Sir Percival has gone?”

Arthur made a face, “I would have thought you could just ask one of the other knights for that sort of information. He’s taken a week’s leave to visit friends.”

“He doesn’t have any friends to visit.”

Immediately Mordred realised how stupid that sounded out loud. Just because Percival had never mentioned any friends outside of the citadel and its surrounding towns didn’t mean he didn’t have any.

“In any case Mordred, he was entitled to the week off.”

“Although it is strange for him to take time off without Gwaine or Elyan,” Merlin added, his arms beginning to sag under the weight of the chainmail he was holding, “he’s never taken time off alone before.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Are the pair of you trying to suggest Percival is taking part in something with a clandestine nature and I should be duly concerned for his safety or loyalty, or are you both wilding speculating about one man’s holiday?”

He didn’t give them the opportunity to answer the question, surging passed Mordred and striking out at Merlin as he left the pair. Mordred quickly excused himself before he was made more to look a fool and made for the armoury. Perhaps a little training would put his mind of things with Percival and whatever he might have done so wrong as to send him away. Lacking the energy to seek out a sparring partner and dress himself in armour, he swiped a bow and full quiver from the back corner and slipped out the door to the archery field. There, quite alone, he set the first arrow in place on his bow and aimed for the dummy dead ahead of him. He held the arrow a moment too longer than necessary, banishing all thoughts of magic and betrayal from his mind, then took the shot. The arrow pierced the dummy’s sack cloth chest with a satisfying tearing sound.

“Good shot.”

Jolted by the sudden voice he turned on the spot to find Gwaine watching him, perched on a rock and eating an apple. He took one last bite of it and threw the core into the bushes, wiped the juice from his hands on his breeches, then spoke.

“What did you say to Percival?”

The question wasn’t particularly angry or accusatory, but Mordred still like he was about to take the blame for something he hadn’t even realised was his fault.

“He told me his family and friends died at the hands of a sorcerer, that magic destroyed his home lands.”

“I want to know what you said Mordred.”

He sounded a little sterner this time, perhaps a little impatient.

“I just said I could sympathise. I lost many homes and much of my people to Uther and his men.”

Gwaine hummed thoughtfully, casting his eyes skyward as a few drops of rain began to fall, “you picked a bad time to practice.”

Mordred’s eyes flashed gold. The rain continued to fall around them, but they remained dry in their magic bubble. Gwaine smiled, clearly impressed by the trick, but his expression went unnoticed as Mordred nocked another arrow into place and fired. It hit the dummy’s head, just a little to the left of the dead centre.

“I know something more must have happened.”

Mordred finally found his voice, “I don’t think we should discuss it.”

He didn’t hear Gwaine move over the rain, but two hands were on his shoulders, guiding him round to face his friend. He couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I disagree. Percival went to speak to you, then left without so much as a word to me. That’s not like him.”

“Maybe it’s not your business where he’s gone.”

“Of course it’s my business, Mordred. I love him.”

Mordred shook his head, “we all love Percival, it doesn’t mean we have a right to question his every move.”

“I don’t think you understood what I meant by that at all.”

A few drops of rain slipped through the magic umbrella above them as he frowned back at Gwaine.

“I can’t hold the spell much longer, we ought to head back inside.”

“For the sake of some peace, I’d rather stay out here.”

“I don’t want to get wet.”

The world around them flashed a brilliant white for a split second, and a moment later thunder clapped loudly over their heads.

“Please, Gwaine, we need to head inside.”

More rain slipped past Mordred’s magic. He’d exhaust himself if he held it much longer.

“Then tell me what happened that evening.”

“I can’t betray him. You don’t want to hear what he did.”

The second Mordred confirmed that it was something Percival had done and not himself, it all clicked into place in Gwaine’s head. Mordred saw the shift in his eyes.

“He kissed you, didn’t he?”

Mordred didn’t answer, eyes focused on the ground between them.

“Your silence is as good as a ‘yes,’ Mordred.”

“It didn’t go any further than that Gwaine, and I’m sure he isn’t really… you know…”

“He isn’t what? Bent? A pansy? A queer?”

Gwaine’s voice was so calm, but his eyes were filled with an intensity that frightened Mordred, and his hands continued to hold him in place.

“Call it what you want, it’s still outlawed in Camelot.”

“If you so much as breathe a word of this to Arthur-“

“I wouldn’t. I would never.”

“But if you did, I would sell you and your magic out so fast-“

Mordred pulled back as another roll of thunder broke above them, finally breaking out of Gwaine’s grip.

“Don’t threaten me.”

“I don’t like doing this Mordred, but I have to be sure you won’t get Percival hurt.”

“And how can I prove myself to you exactly? You already have my magic to use against me if you wish, and I’ve sworn to you that I’d never betray any of you. What more can I do Gwaine?”

The spell had broken now, and the rain was falling freely, soaking their hair, their gambesons beneath their chainmail, their breeches and boots. They stood about a foot apart, alone in the archery field outside the castle walls. Mordred tossed the bow in his hand aside without watching where it fell and boldly took a step forward, putting himself chest to chest with Gwaine, face to face. It was the only thing he could think of, the only way he could prove his loyalty: he kissed him.

Their eyes met as Mordred pulled away and neither one of the dared look elsewhere, “I would never hurt Percival.”

Gwaine’s lips twitched into a small smile, “apparently not.”


End file.
